Today I heard a song that I sang over and over and over during the 3 weeks while my dad was in intensive care. I’m a christian and when dad was ill the church rallied round. This song became my anthem.
Lyrics:
I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive
I had so much faith that God was going to heal dad and that he would be up at the front of church in a years time sharing his testimony. Dad had just started towards faith and God as he had seen how God had helped since I left my husband. God didn’t save him. I can’t help but resent God for that! Of all the people that could have died, it was the best. Why the fuck was dad taken away from me? How can I trust a God who doesn’t answer my prayers. It’s cost me so much. It’s also cost my faith…. It’s like both my dad’s died that day and now I’m stuck with no one. I still believe in God. I just don’t know why it had to be dad and not my uncle. The questions spin in my mind and I know they won’t be answered.
I’m angry! I’m angry at God…. He didn’t save my dad the one time he needed it. Yet he saved that peado 4 times so far. I don’t see the justice in it. Someone told me to try to look at it that God answered dad’s prayers to die and not mine for him to live. I don’t think for one minute dad wanted to die. There is no comforting thought that can make me at peace with god’s decision. I had no choice, but he did.
When dad died, my uncle said ‘it should have been me’ and I took him to be talking from a place of grief. The more I think on those words, the more I hope that he meant it. I hope that every morning he wakes with the guilt of what he’s done and with the knowledge that he deserved to die, not my dad…. I hope he’s trapped in his own prison. Wishing that he didn’t have to stare at the truth anymore. When I see him this Christmas, I hope he looks at me and is again reminded that he doesn’t deserve to be here. That my dad took his rightful place in death. I pray that his life feels like a hell. I know that when he finally dies and meets God, that he will have to pay for all his wrongdoings and will be sent to the fiery pits of hell. I know my dad is in heaven. He came to know God before he died and God was doing great works in him. I suppose that’s it. That’s my only solice, that dad found god and he’s in heaven waiting for me. When I die I’ll be reunited with him, and I will never have to see my uncle again, because he will be rotting where he deserves to be, because he rotted my life.
What if though, he doesn’t have any remorse or guilt. What happens then. He gets to live a life of peace. While I’m tortured.
They say God always answers prayer, just not always in the way you want. What lesson can I learn from having my dad ripped away from me and having to face that demon… I just don’t understand….
Life isn’t fair, I know. It doesn’t mean we have to be okay with it – Violet x
Shrink(ing) Violet 